


Our Lives to Make

by ShaneAndrew



Series: The Dwarf and the Hobbit [3]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-05
Updated: 2013-05-24
Packaged: 2017-12-10 10:37:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/785093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShaneAndrew/pseuds/ShaneAndrew
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo must venture the long road back to the Shire to see his newborn nephew, leaving Thorin to rule over Erebor. But when word reaches him mid-travel that Frodo has been orphaned, he knows he cannot go back to the Lonely Mountain alone.</p><p>What will Thorin say when Bilbo returns with his nephew in tow, when he’s lost his own kin so recently?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel for To Hearth and Hall, written for the prompt
> 
> “I’d love to see what will be say…one year from now…After the dust has settled so to speak…”  
> Many thanks to Eowyn (eowynsmusings) for said prompt :)

Bilbo waited patiently until all the others had left, leaving only himself and his lover standing before the coffin, arms linked and with heavy hearts.

            Thorin let out a shuddering sigh, closed his eyes briefly as Bilbo gave him a reassuring squeeze.

            “It seems impossible that a year could pass so quickly.” Gently he ran his free hand over the smooth lines of the marble. “Even now I still expect to see them coming in for a meal, or practicing combat in the lower halls, even teasing me about my tendency to brood.” Though his eyes bore the weight of grief, his lips twitched oh so slightly.

            “They certainly seemed to think it an entertaining habit of yours.” Bilbo said cautiously, hoping to raise the Dwarf’s mood. He needed him in good spirits for what he was going to tell him. “I shall never forget the look on their faces when you threatened them with permanent pony duty if they didn’t let the subject rest.”

            Thorin did smile then, some of the tired chill in his eyes warming at the thought. “Indeed. You’d think I’d told them to try their hand at courting trolls, they looked that sour.” The upturning in his lips faded as quickly as it had come, trembling now as his throat worked.

            “I would have them tease me every day for the rest of my life if it would mean I could have them back.”

            “I know, love.” Bilbo swallowed hard, willing his own tears away. He needed to be strong for Thorin, let him know that he was here to be leaned on. “I know.”

            “Why did they have to die, Bilbo? Why couldn’t we save them?”

            The Hobbit hesitated, knowing that Thorin was still very much in the throes of grief. Though it was not as heartbreakingly raw as it had been at the outset, he knew it still ate away at the Dwarf on a daily basis. He wanted to comfort his lover and be honest simultaneously, but was desperately afraid he might spout some foolishness that would only make matters worse. He took his time to reply, choosing his words carefully.

            “I don’t know, Thorin. I only wish it could be different.”

            “As do I.” He let his eyes fall shut a moment as a few errant tears leaked out. After a minute or two, he bent down and brushed a kiss over the head of the coffin.

            “Come, let us walk outside awhile. I need to clear my head.”

            They took their leave of the burial chamber, hand in hand and each keeping his own counsel. One reminiscing of times long past with equal parts joy and sorrow, and the other looking towards the future. There were changes on the horizon, just barely visible but coming steadily to the forefront of his attention nonetheless. It was of these changes that Bilbo was hoping to speak to Thorin about.

            The issue of timing prevented him, however. A year ago today the heirs of Durin had been brutally slain in battle and their uncle had been driven nearly mad with grief. He didn’t imagine Thorin was in the most receptive frame of mind at the moment, when he was so ensconced in thoughts of his nephews.

            But the issue of loyalty, of duty to his own family prodded him to divulge the news he’d received a week ago. A major change had already taken place, and Bilbo knew it would complicate matters with regards to his relationship with the King Under the Mountain.

            It seemed that some six months before Thorin had lost his nephews, Bilbo had gained one of his own.

            “Bilbo?”

            “Hm?”

            “Did you not hear me?”

            “Oh I am sorry, Thorin. Lost in thought, I’m afraid.” He mentally shook himself and came back to the present moment. “What was it you said?”

            “I said that there were matters I wish to discuss with you.”

            “Ah…it so happens that there’s something I’ve been wanting to discuss as well.” He stopped and motioned towards a low stone wall. They went to sit, and Bilbo took both of Thorin’s hands in his.

            “You first, Halfling. You seem eager to speak what’s on your mind.”

            Bilbo swallowed, heart suddenly pounding rather hard. Here he’d been wondering how to broach the subject, and now he’d been placed on the spot. Clearing his throat, he made himself meet Thorin’s eyes. Still grieving, he noted, and tired as ever. He hoped he was not about to worsen matters.

            “I…I’ve have word from the Shire,” he began. “From one of my cousins, Drogo Baggins.”

            “You’re wanted back.” It was said flatly, and Bilbo could practically feel his lover’s mental retreating from the conversation.

            “N-not permanently, you understand; even if they did tell me to stay I would pay them no mind. Neither they nor anyone could stop me returning here.”

            “But you are going to go away for a time, I presume? To see your kin?”

            “Yes.  Just for a little while, mind. I’m sure I shan’t stay above a week.”

            “With a six-month journey at either end of that week.” Thorin’s polite interest was being steadily replaced by a black frown. “You’ll be gone for a year, is what you are telling me.”

            Bilbo winced, brought a hand up to cup Thorin’s cheek. “I have to,” he said gently.

            “Must you leave now?” He drew away and pushed to his feet. “Winter is beginning and will slow your travels. It will not be safe. You can’t go now.” Seeing the timid hope in the Hobbit’s eyes fall, he gentled his voice as best he could. Sat down again.

            “I need you here, Bilbo. You’re my anchor, my rock. You keep the nightmares away.”

            “My family needs me too, Thorin. My – my nephew needs me.”

            Thorin froze, eyes blown wide and confused and laced with hurt.

            “You never told me you had a nephew.”

            “I didn’t know I had one until last week, Thorin.” He withdrew a battered, much-folded letter from his coat and held it out. “My cousin was married not long before your company came to my door, and it seems they had a son while I was away.”

            Thorin took the parchment, scanned it quickly. And Bilbo saw his gaze soften.

            “He was born on your birthday?”

            Bilbo nodded.

            “They named him Frodo.” The Dwarf continued to read, interest caught. “They say they want you to be his guardian should anything happen to them. They say he’s quiet, like you were as a child.” He glanced up.

            “Go to him. I understand.”

            Bilbo could have sworn his brows all but disappeared into his curls. “You’re certain?” He swiftly searched the other’s face. “A moment ago you were dead set against my going anywhere.”

            “Going by the date on this letter, this Frodo of yours will be already two years of age by the time you return to the Shire. In terms of Dwarf years that would make him still an infant, but I imagine it’s different for Hobbits.”

            “Yes, he’ll be a toddler then, learning to speak and garden and to outrun his parents.” Bilbo knew he should feel relief that Thorin was willing to let him go for such a length of time. But the Dwarf’s sudden acquiescence only served to make him wary, make him worry about Thorin’s motives. Why the sudden change of heart?

            “A nephew needs his uncle,” Thorin said softly, seeming to have read Bilbo’s mind. “A nephew needs his uncle to teach him, to love him, to show him the old ways of his ancestors. To spoil him a little when his parents aren’t looking.”

            And seeing the misty remembrance cloud his lover’s eyes, Bilbo understood. Feeling a lump rise in his throat, he took Thorin’s face in his hands and gently kissed him.

            “I will miss you more than words can say.” Thorin gripped him tight, saying nothing, and Bilbo felt a twinge of guilt that he would have to be gone for so long.

            “Now then.” He drew back, gently carded his fingers through the other’s hair. “What was it you wanted to talk about?”

            Thorin nearly blurted it out to him then, but felt the words stick in his throat before he could even open his mouth. Orchestrating a too-casual shrug, he could not meet the Hobbit’s gaze.

            “It can wait, little burglar.”

            “For a year’s time?” As ever, Bilbo saw more than Thorin wanted him to see. “You said you had matters to discuss with me.”

            “Please, Bilbo.” He could feel himself fighting to suppress the shaking in his heart. If this went any farther he would break down, and that was the absolute last thing he needed. “We can talk about it for as long as you wish upon your return. But I need to know you’ll be here for a long while before we talk about it, do you see? I need to know you’ll be here to consider my – to think about what I have to say,” he hastily amended.

            “Only if you’re sure.” Bilbo squeezed his hand. “It seems rather important.”

            “You must trust me on this. Go and see your nephew; I will still be here upon your return. Then we will talk.” _Just promise me, promise me you will come back._

            Bilbo gave him another searching glance, but let the matter drop. They sat awhile in the watery morning sunlight, huddled close against the impending chill of winter’s beginning. The sun had nearly reached its midday peak before Thorin spoke again.

            “You must promise to keep me abreast of your travels whilst you are away, and send word the minute you arrive safely in the Shire.”

            “Of course. I’d send a flower with each letter, but I’m afraid they would wilt long before my missives reached you here.”

            Thorin let out a tired chuckle. “Worry not on that, my friend. I’ll simply visit that little garden of yours daily, and let it remind me of you.”

            Bilbo smiled a little at the thought. The spring following the retaking of Erebor, he’d taken seeds from the flowers he’d given Thorin the day of his nephews’ wake and planted them in a small plot of land by the hidden door to the Mountain, along with a few herbs and vegetables that reminded him of home. It had blossomed wonderfully under his skilled and careful care, and he’d even begun to teach a few of the Dwarves of the company how to properly care for living things. It was good to know it would still thrive, even in his absence.

            Thorin huffed a bit, then pulled Bilbo to his feet and hugged him hard, letting the embrace say what he could not. _I’m scared for you. I want you to be safe. I’m happy you have a nephew. I wish I could go with you._

            “Come.” He pulled away, stroked his fingers down his lover’s plump cheek. “Let us go and make preparations. I’m not letting you leave here until I’m sure I’ve done all I can to ensure you travel with speed and safety.”

            “That’s fortunate, as I wouldn’t let me leave without those either.” He took the fingers that rested on his cheek and kissed each one. “I love you, Thorin. Never doubt that.”

            “I love you back, Bilbo.”

            _Likely too much for my own good,_ he thought as they turned to go back into the Mountain that had fast become their home. They had begun to build a life together during the rebuilding and rebirth of the kingdom of Erebor, but it was no longer enough. Thorin wanted more.

            He’d almost told the Hobbit of his intentions today, of how he wanted to court him and fuse their hearts together in a bond stronger than that of lovers. But now that Bilbo had become an uncle, he would have to wait. Wait and worry and hope to all the gods that he had made the right decision; that Bilbo would survive the journey there and back again so that he could profess just how much he loved him.

            If he lost him – _No_. He would not consider that possibility. Of course his little burglar would come through just fine; after all had he not saved himself and his company from many a dire situation in the course of their quest? All the same, tiny slivers of fear dogged him as they went about the arrangements for Bilbo’s journey. He could not entirely still a little voice that insisted Bilbo would not come back the same Hobbit as the one he knew, and that his chance to woo him properly would be lost forever.


	2. Chapter 2

The morning of the departure dawned clear and cold, with a wren singing its lonely croon to the otherwise empty skies. All was quiet within and without the Mountain in this early hour of dawn, and even the newly thriving Dale was devoid of its usual bustle. All souls, it seemed, were still sleeping sound in their beds.

            All save two, wrapped in soft furs in the royal chambers.

            They’d rarely left each other’s side in the past four days, knowing that a year apart would take a great toll on the both of them. They were preemptively making up for lost time, sneaking in as many extra moments as possible to take with them once they were separated.

            This morning was no exception. They lay as they often did, with Bilbo on his left side and Thorin pressed up against his back, strong arms snug about the other’s waist. But they were not asleep despite the early hour – the Dwarf was buried to the hilt in his Hobbit, making love to him as the sun peeked its rising rays over the crest of the valley.

            It was gentle, this coupling, soft and sweet and lingering.

            “Oh gods, _Bilbo_.” Thorin dipped his head to breathe in his love’s scent as he thrusted, nipping at his throat in the process. “How much I love you. How much I need you.” He moved gently, easily as the other arched into his embrace, letting loose a mewling cry.

            “Thorin, Thorin.” His name fell from Bilbo’s lips again and again, like a prayer or a plea. “Thorin, my love. My only – ” A gasp ripped from him as the angle changed to nudge at his core. “My only one, _Thorin_.”

            The Dwarf panted hotly against the Hobbit’s neck, pulling him against his solid frame ever tighter. Feathering the battle-scars on his ear with whispering kisses, like little painted brushstrokes of flame. Bilbo craned his neck around, fitting his petal-soft lips to Thorin’s and coaxing a soul-deep groan from his lover.

            Soon after, spent and content, Bilbo lay absentmindedly tracing patterns over the planes of Thorin’s well-muscled chest. The arm around his shoulders stroked softly, cradling him. Both had their eyes closed, letting themselves simply feel each other’s presence, be absorbed in their still-glowing energies. Savoring the few precious moments they had left together.  

            Bilbo snuggled up to his lover, resting his head on the crisp, dark hair adorning Thorin’s pectorals and slinging his arm over his chest. Brushed a firm kiss over one flat nipple. Feeling love curl sweetly in his gut as Thorin did the same to his forehead, a gently protective gesture.

            “I wish you could come with me.”

            “I cannot. My kin need me here, as yours do elsewhere. And there is much yet to be done to restore Erebor to her rightful glory.”

            “I know it. It doesn’t stop the wanting.” He let out a soft chuckle. “I fear I may go mad from missing you while I’m away, and start mooning over you like a love-struck youth.”

            “I’m not sure that you’d be capable of mooning, my dear Hobbit. Surely you’re far too practical for such foolishness.” Thorin’s eyes were twinkling in an otherwise serious face, and Bilbo knew he’d miss this most: Just the two of them, wrapped in each other, trading loving quips and just _being_.

            “Oh, I don’t know about that,” he countered, putting on a mock pout that nearly had the other snorting with laughter. “I’ll leave on my journey and seem supremely unaffected, and the next thing you know I’ll be gazing wistfully into the distance and sighing all the time and composing morose, overwrought poetry.”

            Thorin let out a full-throated laugh then as he snatched the Hobbit up to hold him close. When he drew back just enough, Bilbo thought his heart skipped a beat – it was so rare to see his love so alight, exuding so much happiness. He had the most gorgeous smile that crinkled the skin ’round his eyes and brought out deep dimples in his cheeks.  

            He pecked a kiss to Bilbo’s nose and chucked him under the chin. “Well whatever morose poetry comes to mind, you be sure to make note of it for Ori to write down later. He can embellish it quite nicely, and we’ll frame it and place it where all can see.”

            Bilbo blushed in spite of himself. Maybe he _would_ write something sad and silly, as a coming-home present. If it would keep Thorin smiling the way he was now, he would write a hundred of such works.

            For his own part, Thorin was quite glad he could send his Halfling off with this sweet teasing and a loving embrace; he’d been worried that the thought of being without his little lover for such a length of time would sour things between them and make the departure that much harder to bear.

            That’s not to say it would be by any means easy. Mornings like this would if anything make it that much harder, as he would not have another like it until Bilbo’s return. But at least they would part in love and in friendship, instead of in bitterness and hard feelings.

            No, it would not be easy. But memories such as the ones they created now would help to ease the ache of longing. And he hoped they would stay with Bilbo as well, and begin to make the foundation of his plans for courting. Indeed, he already had his first gift readied, though he would not present it as such.

             “We should get dressed,” Bilbo was saying. “I want to get a good start on the day, and I’m sure the others are waiting to see me off.”

            Thorin nodded and rose from the great bed. He did not dress in his king’s robes this day, however. Instead he pulled on the clothes he’d worn the day they’d met, all dark blues and bronze and his billowing cloak. As Bilbo began to pull on his trousers and attach his suspenders, he was stalled by a gentle hand on his shoulder.

            “Here. This is about your size.” He turned, and saw what looked to be a shimmering silver shirt that on closer inspection looked to be comprised of hundreds of tiny metal rings. It caught the light of the lamps and almost twinkled, giving off a soft, friendly air.

            When he held it, it was cool as water to the touch and all but flowed over his fingers.

            “Is…is this what I think it is?” He looked up at Thorin, eyes shining.

            The Dwarf nodded, pride and love evident in his eyes. “ _Mithril_ , as my people call it. It is as light as a feather, and as hard as a dragon’s scales. It will keep you safe from many wounds –” His words were abruptly cut off as the Hobbit all but tackled him in a fierce embrace.

            “It’s beautiful, the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Oh thank you, Thorin, thank you so much. I’ve only ever heard stories of this stuff, and to be given it…” he brushed fluttering fingers over his eyes. “I am honored. I’ll do my best to be worthy of it.”

            Thorin smiled as he helped Bilbo into it, thrilled to his core that his first courting-gift should be so well-received, even though Bilbo only thought it a measure of protection for him for his journey. Hopefully his gratitude would not fade while he was away, for Thorin was already making carefully detailed plans for wooing the Hobbit upon his return. The Mithril shirt was just the beginning of his plan to make Bilbo absolutely his.

            Time seemed to be getting on quicker now that they were readying themselves, and before too long they stood with the others at the entrance to the Mountain. Gandalf and Bofur both would be traveling with Bilbo, for companionship and protection. Thorin had taken them aside in the days previously to stress how important it was that they protect the Halfling with their lives, but he needn’t have worried. Bilbo had become quite beloved amongst the company and the kingdom in general, and Gandalf had been more than happy to whisk his favorite Hobbit away on another adventure.

            They gathered up their packs, their bedrolls and provisions, their wishes of good fortune and safe travel from the company. Bilbo clasped hands, exchanged hugs with each of the Dwarves in turn, and each of them gave him a smile or a wink or a bit of wisdom or advice to take with him. And then he stood before Thorin, who stood as stoic as ever, love and fear blazing equally in his eyes.

            They looked at each other a moment, knowing of the hardship to come and how their enduring love would see them through. Then Thorin let out a sound halfway between a sigh and a snarl, and crushed his lips to Bilbo’s.

            It was hard and bittersweet, brimming with promise as much as the pain of parting. Bilbo returned it in full, knowing his love would know what he meant to say without words.

            “Be safe, Bilbo. Come back to me.”

            “Be strong, Thorin. I will return.”

            They shared one last embrace, and Bilbo turned to begin this new journey. Bofur gave him a reassuring smile, and Gandalf nodded to Thorin.

            “There is nothing to fear,” he soothed in his deep voice. “We will see him safely back to you.”

            “Singing all the while,” Bofur added, his dark eyes in their usual merry dance. “You’ll be able t’hear us all the way from Laketown, as I for one plan on playing up a right parade when we return as triumphant adventurers.”

            Thorin swallowed hard, but did not let his worry show. He would send his Bilbo off with only happiness and hope. “I don’t doubt it,” he said aloud, and smiled almost shyly. “And I shall count the days until then.”

            Their gazes locked, and then they went their separate ways.

            For all that Bilbo was going to sorely miss Thorin and the rest of the company, he could admit to himself that he was feeling the familiar stirrings of excitement in his heart. He thought fondly of his carefree childhood, spent for the most part in the throes of wanderlust and running about the fields and forests bordering the Shire. Searching for Elves, playing at being warriors with other Hobbit-children, of coming home long after dark trailing mud and twigs.

            If only his dear mother could see him now, he thought with a smile. Not only had his initial if unexpected journey cast him far and away from his homeland, but he’d missed countless suppers and fought a dragon to boot. And ruined a waistcoat or two, but he did not mind so much as he once might have. He had changed a great deal, and he wondered how this next part of his tale might change him further.

            “Penny for yer thoughts.” Bofur gave him a playful nudge as they began to make their way down the mountainside.

            “Oh, I was just thinking how much things have changed in me, since you lot showed up at my house and all but destroyed my kitchen.” He chuckled at the memory. “Oh, how I wished you would all just leave me in peace, and yet now I cannot imagine being happier with my lot in life. I’m not the same Hobbit I once was.”

            Bofur pondered that a moment. “The way I see it, life’s not much fun if you stay the same way all the way through. It’s the changes that help us not only to know ourselves, but to also give us the courage t’get out in the world and find out what really matters most.”

            “I like that,” Bilbo said slowly. “And it’s certainly true in my case.” He thought how his life might be different if he’d clung to who he thought he was, and refused the offer to join Thorin and his company on their quest. He would not have rediscovered his love of travel, of storytelling, of the joys to be found in the great unknown. He would not have fallen in love and been so much a better person for it.

            He began to whistle an old tune as they walked, of roads that went ever on and on. And he looked forward to what he might learn of himself, how he might be changed by this new and also unexpected journey.


	3. Chapter 3

A month into his journey to the West, Bilbo was still, for the most part, enjoying himself. There was certainly something to be said for adventuring, for the anticipation and the adrenaline-ridden thrill of just how big the world really was. And Bofur and Gandalf were really quite lovely traveling companions, cheery and strong and for the most part agreeable.

            By the end of the second month, Bilbo’s enjoyment was beginning to wane a little. The return to and through Mirkwood, though not nearly as unpleasant as the first time around, had not been one of the better months of his life. It was not quite as dangerous thanks to Gandalf’s work in banishing the Necromancer in the South, and the hospitality and guidance of the Wood Elves had been most handy in helping them get through the seemingly endless sea of trees. Yet decay had still worn heavily on the place, and with it an ever-constant _wrong_ feeling, like a nail file being rubbed down his spine. Indeed, he nearly wept in joy once they had come to the Western border to be bathed in sunlight as they began the trek towards the home of Beorn.

            And, of course, it did not help that he was suddenly and utterly deprived of being with Thorin. After seeing the Dwarf every day for the past nineteen months, to now be without him was jarring to say the least.

            By the time the third month was well underway, Bilbo felt his resolve steadily crumbling as they reached the Eastern border of the Misty Mountains. He’d left a letter with Beorn to be delivered to Erebor, letting Thorin know of their progress.

            _Dearest Thorin,_

            _I hope this letter reaches you in good health. At the present moment we are staying again with Beorn; he is as jovial and as frightening as the first time around._

_Gandalf says we are making good time, and while I trust his judgment I am nonetheless becoming disenchanted with this adventure. While I very much look forward to meeting my little nephew, I am suddenly afraid: What if he doesn’t like me? What if he doesn’t want an uncle of (by now) disagreeable reputation? Bofur says I’m just being silly, that there’s no way under the stars that Frodo wouldn’t be ‘far and away the happiest little Hobbit to have such a fine uncle’. I do hope he is not mistaken, though I think his opinion of me a bit exaggerated._

He’d paused here a moment, unsure how to continue. He considered himself no great wordsmith, yet he was very much determined to convey his feelings adequately for Thorin’s sake. Tongue between his teeth, he set the quill again to the creamy parchment.

            _I miss you dearly, Thorin. I feel there’s a hole in ~~my heart~~ my life where you'd normally be, and it is truly strange to not ~~have you around~~ be by your side._

_We are headed next to the Misty Mountains, but you’re not to fret. Gandalf says he has a fair number of tricks up his sleeve should the need arise, and personally I am of the opinion that we shall be alright. After all we have traveled these paths before and come through in one piece (though I do hope we shall not have dealings with goblins this time). And I’ve that curious ring of mine, should I need to disappear._

_I really do miss you, Thorin. If you were here I wouldn’t hesitate to ~~kiss you most ardently~~ stay always nearby. Um. No doubt every night under the stars would be a ~~sensual~~ pleasant one, if you were here.  ~~~~~~~~~~~~_

_Oh blast it all, I am no good at this. I love you and I miss you, Thorin, and I cannot wait until I have you back. Take care._

_Bilbo_

            As they began their upward hike into the foreboding range in front of them, Bilbo hoped his letter would make Thorin smile. Then he might not dwell on the thought of Bilbo, Bofur and Gandalf in danger and become worried. If there was one thing he’d discovered about his lover in their time together, it was that he became the most frustrated when he could do nothing to help those he cared about. He’d seen it when they were at the mercy of the trolls and during their time as prisoners of the Elvenking in Mirkwood. He’d seen it when he’d learned that his nephews had been taken from him.

            He felt a sting in his heart at that, fondly remembering the youngest of their company and how very much their uncle had loved them. He wondered if he could end up meaning that much to little Frodo, whom he’d yet to meet and who would have only ever heard stories of his wayward and improper uncle. He had never really desired to have children of his own, but he was fiercely determined to be the absolutely best uncle he could be. He’d make Frodo feel like the luckiest nephew in the world.

            “You’ll need to keep your wits about you there, Bilbo.” Gandalf’s words cut gently through his musings. “The path gets rather narrower here and I doubt Thorin would be overly pleased with me if I let you fall victim to your daydreams.”

            “Oh, I was just thinking about Frodo,” he said, taking hold of the cliff face as he negotiated a particularly tricky turn. “I was thinking how I very much want to be the most excellent uncle I can to him.”

            “You’ll be fine, lad,” Bofur soothed. “You’re strong and caring and’ve got a lively wit on you.”

            “And I wager that if he’s anything at all like you were at that age, tales of adventures such as yours will no doubt keep him entirely enthralled,” Gandalf added. “Best you don’t assume anything about the boy, and let him set the tone of your meeting.”

            “I still wish Thorin were here. He could tell me what to do; give me advice.”

            “What Kíli and Fíli needed from their uncle may be entirely different than what Frodo will need from you,” said Bofur. “No child is the same, and each one requires a slightly different touch.”

            “How do you know?” Bilbo was steadily getting more cross; why did no one understand his need to speak of this, how worried he was? “As far as I know, you’ve no children to speak of.”

            “Bein’ a toymaker for longer than you’ve been alive gave me some insight,” was the Dwarf’s dry retort. “You’ll never quite know what children will do an’ how’ll they’ll react to you. Y’gotta let ’em speak for themselves; if you’re not t’their likin’ they won’t hesitate to tell you.”

            Inwardly heaving a sigh of frustration, Bilbo closed his mouth and concentrated on making his way over the path. He knew there was truth in his companions’ words, even in his grumpy state.

            But he had a nagging feeling that his nephew was going to end up a much bigger part of his life than he’d anticipated, and he didn’t know how to feel about that. If he was in Erebor for most of the time how would he be a good uncle? He couldn’t be forever going between his new home and the Shire, it just wasn’t feasible. Goodness knows he couldn’t take the boy with him when he returned; though the thought gave him an odd warm feeling he knew his cousin would never allow it. And really, he’d no right to ask it of him. Frodo would have his whole life ahead of him, and he deserved to live out that life with his family and his own kind, safe in the Shire.

            He supposed he would just have to make infrequent visits, every few years or so. Perhaps he could even bring Thorin with him one day, so they could meet. He chuckled to himself then, thinking of the looks he would receive from his fellow Hobbits were he to appear hand in hand with a towering, glowering Dwarf in the marketplace.

            He could only hope that he’d make enough of a good impression that Frodo would forgive him for being a largely absentee part of his young life.

*          *          *

Not for the first time since Bilbo’s departure, Thorin was caught in an unsettling dream. The only difference was that tonight, the Hobbit he’d come to love was nowhere in sight.

            He was back in the Shire, or somewhere that looked an awful lot like it. Endless, rolling hills of iridescent green surrounded him, dotted by the occasional cow or cottage. He could hear laughter, somewhere, but could not see the source of it.

            A wind blew through then, gently picked up him and carried him over farm and forest. A little trail came into view, and on that trail a trio of Hobbits walked.

            There were two adults and one child; he guessed correctly that this was a young couple come to take their little one out for a day in the glorious sunshine. The child was between his parents, holding one of each of their hands in his and smiling fit to burst. The father was saying something to the laughing mother while his free hand swung a picnic basket to and fro. The mother had long dark curls that exactly matched the shade of her son’s.

            He followed them a brief way, wondering if this was what Bilbo had looked like when he was younger, but he could not make out the littlest Halfling’s features. He was dressed in a dark teal shirt with child-sized suspenders clipped into earth-brown trousers that were rolled up to his knees, revealing short but sturdy legs and tiny, hairy feet.

            He felt a familiar warmth settle in his heart, reminded of Kíli and Fíli when they were young dwarrows. So young, so eager to explore the world.

            The little family was drawing near to the edge of a wide, rushing river now; Thorin thought he recognized it but could not be sure. There was a boat there, waiting to take them on an afternoon’s adventure. He watched as they carefully piled in, the child trying to splash in the water before his mother pulled him onto her lap and waved a finger at him, no doubt cautioning her son to be wary of the strong waters.

            Things were suddenly happening very quickly: As the father rowed their boat out into the middle of the river and into the southward current, the bow hit a large rock that Thorin could swear had not been there a moment before. The boat jarred and then tipped, sending all three Hobbits into the water.

            Just as the mother sank under she threw her son, trying to get him back into the boat.

            Heart racing, Thorin made to leap into the water, but found himself immobilized. There was nothing he could do but watch as the two older ones struggled to stay afloat, gasping for every precious breath of air as the water swept and battered them along. The child was nowhere to be seen.

            Everything flashed dark for a moment, and the next thing he saw was the child, wild-eyed and soaked to the bone and crying for all he was worth, on a grassy bank by a broken boat and clutching an empty picnic basket.

            He awoke with a gasp, was shocked to realize his own cheeks were wet with tears. The child had wept as though he were heartbroken, and in the dream Thorin had felt the immensity of his sorrow cut at him as sharply as any blade.

            He thought frantically of Bilbo then. Was he alright? Had something happened to make him dream of such horrible things? Mind whirling he tore down to the main chambers, hoping to find a letter, a sign, anything to prove that his Halfling was alright.

            By some miracle there was a letter there, carefully folded and bearing Bilbo’s neat handwriting. He eagerly tore it open and drank in every word, breathed several sighs of relief to know that he was well.

            Tucking the parchment to his chest, he made his way back to his rooms. Bilbo was safe; that was all that mattered. As he slipped back into his bed, he wondered muzzily why he would have such strange dreams in spite of that fact.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long for this chapter to be posted; a combination of writer's block and wanting to research a number of things prevented me from getting started as soon as I'd have liked. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy it despite the wait :)
> 
> SA

“What do you mean, closed down?” Bilbo folded his arms over his chest, raised his chin, and wished he were taller. “Brandywine River has never been ‘closed down’ in my life!”

            “No passage,” the man said again, looking supremely unimpressed. “Not after the drowning last month. You can’t cross here, nor can anybody.”

            Gandalf, who was very tall, peered down at the man and deepened his voice considerably. “My dear fellow, we have urgent business in Hobbiton. I would strongly suggest you either allow us to cross or point us in the direction of a bridge we might utilize. Otherwise, and I say this with considerable regret, I shall have to turn your ears inside out and have them switch places with your feet.”

            The man swallowed audibly, looked at the staff that the wizard oh so innocently rolled between his fingers, and softened his tone a bit. “Look lads, I’m just doing my job! There’s a young Hobbit family what came through here lookin’ to ’ave an afternoon sail down the river. Hit a rock out in the middle and all three of ’em went under. Word is only the kiddie survived.”

            “What? Hobbit family?” Heart beginning to pound, Bilbo eyed the man sharply. “Who – do you know the names? Of the family?”

            The man scratched at a week’s worth of stubble. “Ach, I don’t remember. Boggins, or something strange like that. No bodies found. So y’see, you can’t cross,” he went on, oblivious to the turmoil suddenly raging inside the Hobbit before him. “They’ve got us guarding the river in shifts so’s no one else comes to harm.”

            “I see,” said Gandalf, noting Bilbo’s internal distress and thinking quickly. “So sorry to have bothered you. We’ll be on our way now.”

            He exchanged a quick glance with Bofur, who’d put a worried hand on Bilbo’s shoulder, and motioned towards the little forest from which they’d just emerged.

            Bilbo’s mind was whirling sickly as Bofur guided him to sit on a convenient boulder. _Boggins. No bodies found. Word is only the kiddie survived._

            So this is what Thorin had felt then, or something akin to it. Told out of the blue that you’d lost a piece of your family. He felt dizzy, nauseous. Hollow.

            “Bilbo –”

            “No, don’t.” He rose and began to stride away. “Brandywine Bridge isn’t far from here. We’ll cross there and ask for more details in Hobbiton.” He needed to keep moving. The sooner they got there the sooner he could know for sure. Surely the man had misheard the name of the victims.

            “Best we follow him, if y’ask me,” Bofur said. “He’ll go on either way.” He began after the Halfling, Gandalf falling into step beside him. “Do – d’you think it was them? His nephew and the parents?”

            “I do not know.” The wizard’s face was grim with concern. “I can only hope for poor Bilbo’s sake that it was not. For if it was, things are going to become much more complicated for our Hobbit.”

            Bilbo pretended not to hear them as he hurried along, dread hammering through his head with every step. There were some fifty miles yet between him and his hometown, about two days’ more journey. He was not sure how he would endure the wait to know the truth, but knew that if he stopped moving now he would be consumed by worry.

            As such, despite the sun’s rapid decline in the Western skies as they crossed over the Brandywine, the Hobbit showed no immediate signs of slowing down. Face set, legs pumping, he kept on towards Hobbiton.

            “Master Baggins, we should make camp fer the night.” Bofur caught him up and tentatively put a hand on his shoulder, only to have it roughly shoved away.

            “Bilbo, you won’t get there any faster if you tucker yerself out now. Eventually yer body’s going t’give up on you. Slow down now, and I’ll make us up a cuppa.”

            “We’ve no tea leaves,” was his curt reply. He did not slow down.

            “Fer all you know I bought some when we passed through Bree.”

            “I don’t want any.”

            “For goodness’ sake, Bilbo.” Gandalf strode ahead, turned to block the winding path. “Don’t be ridiculous. You need to rest now; we all do.”

            “Move aside, Gandalf.” His voice was oddly low, and simmering with heat. “I’ll be the judge of when I need to rest. My family needs me.”

            “That they may.” The wizard suddenly seemed taller, darker as he loomed over the Halfling. “But they will have no use of you if you show up half-dead from exhaustion to faint upon their doorstep! I understand that you are worried for your nephew, anybody would be. But behavior such as yours will do nothing to help his situation, if help is what he proves to need. I promised Thorin I would see you safely to the Shire and back to Erebor. And if that entails protecting you from your own foolishness, so be it!”

            Chest heaving, glaring up at his companion, Bilbo relented with a disgusted sigh and made his way off the path, dropped his pack onto the ground and started setting up his bedding.

            “Good thinkin’, that,” Bofur murmured as he unslung his own pack. “Using Thorin.”

            “It seemed the best way to cut through that indomitably stubborn will of his.” Gandalf lowered himself to the grassy ground, fished out his pipe.

            Bilbo, for his part, munched a bit of lembas given them by the Elves in Rivendell as he spread his meager blankets over the ground. Part of him knew he was behaving irrationally, childishly even. But was it really so wrong of him to want to make sure his cousins and their two-year-old son were alive and well? Worry and anger prickled uncomfortably in his head, insisting that everything had gone wrong, that Drogo and Primula were indeed dead and little Frodo left an orphan.

            Which brought to bear another question: If Frodo was now parentless, how was he supposed to return to the Lonely Mountain? It was his duty to care for his nephew; his cousin had made that plain enough in his letter. Bilbo was to look out for him should anything happen. And yet, how could he when he had promised Thorin he would return?

            He would have to take Frodo with him, he realized. He would have to find a way to lead a toddler on an eight-hundred-mile trek through the Wild. He felt a helpless kind of fear take him at the thought of it, of the responsibility and the difficulty that would comprise such a task. He knew Bofur and Gandalf would not hesitate to offer any and all assistance they could, but it was a daunting prospect nonetheless.

            And what of Thorin? What would his Dwarven lover say if this came to light, if Bilbo told him that he would be coming home with his nephew in tow? What if it reminded him of the loss of his own nephews? Too many questions, he thought. Too many questions and not nearly enough answers to balance the scale. Groaning, Bilbo lay his head on his knapsack and tried to sleep, hoping with all he was that he was mistaken and that his cousins still lived.

            The day after next found them the focus of what seemed to be every pair of eyes in Hobbiton – no one had expected the long-suspected dead Bilbo Baggins to ever return, let alone with a Dwarf and a wizard as his companions. They stared, they shrank away, they whispered behind their hands. Despite the fact that Bilbo had made a comfortable home for himself with the Dwarves at Erebor, he still felt mildly affronted at such a reception. He had been born here, after all, and had spent the first fifty and one-half years of his life in these hills.

            No matter. What he needed to do now was find out the truth of his cousins, and of Frodo.

            “ ’scuse me!”

            The voice was quite a little one, coming up from behind the trio as they made their way past a bustling pub. Surprised, Bilbo turned to see a young Hobbit come bounding up to their party.

            “You’re Mister Baggins!” The little boy looked quite excited, round face shining if a little smudged with gardening dirt. “They’ve all sorts of mad stories about you,” he said without preamble, as children are wont to do. “They say you ventured East to slay a whole pack of dragons and that you’re richer than a king now, but that we really shouldn’t talk about it ’cause adventurin’ isn’t proper, and –”

            “Whoa there, slow down a bit.” Flattered in spite of himself, Bilbo crouched down so as to look the youth in his warm hazel eyes. “What’s your name, lad? And how ever did you recognize me?”

            “Gamgee, Mister Baggins, Samwise Gamgee. Though most just call me Sam.” He pointed at Gandalf and Bofur. “I knew it was you cos of th’ Dwarf and Mister Gandalf, y’see. Miss Lobelia says y’ran off with a pack of Dwarves when you left so long ago, and when my Gaffer was alive he told us all about the fireworks Mister Gandalf would light off and how pretty they were. So I figured that any Hobbit walking ’round with such company could only be the Mister Baggins everyone talks and shakes their heads about.”

            “Sure and yer a smart laddie, to be so discerning.” Charmed, Bofur crouched down beside Bilbo. “Th’ name’s Bofur, and truth be told I come from lands not so far from here, up toward Ered Luin.”

            Sam’s eyes went wide at that. “Wow, you’ve sure come a long way! Welcome t’ the Shire, Mister Bofur. And t’you too, Mister Gandalf,” he added, inclining his head.

            “Actually, you could be just the Hobbit we want,” said Bilbo, thinking quickly. “You know of the Bagginses, it seems. I was wondering if you’d ever met a Drogo Baggins? He’s my cousin, and I’ve returned to visit him and his family.”

            The little Hobbit’s face fell. “I hate t’tell you this, Mister Baggins, but Mister Drogo and Miss Primula aren’t around anymore. They took Frodo out for a picnic but the Brandywine took ’em. They drowned, but somehow Frodo didn’t. I found ’im afterwards, wet all through and crying for his mother.”

            A knife of grief sliced through Bilbo’s heart; it was true then. Struggling to compose himself, he swallowed past his tears.

            “I’m very, very sorry to hear that, Sam. I – I take it you knew them well then? The Bagginses?”

            “Sure did. Used t’be I’d be the one t’look after Frodo if Mister Drogo and the missus were going out of an evening, and then when me Gaffer died they took me in. I’m older’n Frodo so’s I could help out with him, and Miss Primula had me help out with her gardening as well an’ she taught me everythin’ she knew.” He winced. “ ’m sorry if I made you sad, Mister Baggins.”

            “It’s alright. How old are you, if I may ask?”

            “Seven, Mister Baggins.”

            “And you and Frodo –” He swallowed hard. “You’re good friends, would you say?”

            “The best!” Sam smiled then. “He’s real quiet, ’specially since the accident, but he’s just the bestest little friend I could have. He makes me laugh a lot.”

            “And where might Frodo be now?” inquired Gandalf gently. “Bilbo here has yet to meet his nephew and is most anxious to do so.”

            Sam was quiet a moment. “He’ll be at Bag End, with Miss Lobelia. She might not wanna let ’im see you, Mister Baggins. She’s mean like that.”

            Bilbo let out a dry chuckle. It was either that or start crying. “Never fear on that account, lad. I know well how to handle the Sackville-Bagginses.”

            “If you’re sure then,” Sam said, his little face gone oddly solemn. “Jus’ lemme talk to Miss Lobelia first, alright? She doesn’t like me overmuch but if I tell her you’re here it might be better’n you just knocking on the door, cos she knows me.”

            “Of course,” said Gandalf smoothly before Bilbo’s pride could get the better of him. “Lead on then, Master Gamgee.”

            “Y’alright, Bilbo?” Bofur glanced sidelong at his friend as they made their way towards the smattering of Hobbit-holes in the distance. “Yer lookin’ a bit peaky.”

            “My cousin and his wife are dead and my nephew is in the care of my least favorite relations,” he said quietly, not wanting Sam to overhear. “I’m far and away from dandy, that’s for sure, but you needn’t worry. Like I said, I know how to handle the Sackville-Bagginses. There is nothing they can do to stop me getting to see my Frodo.”

            And indeed, as they waited at the bottom of the walk up to the door of Bag End for Sam to deliver news of their arrival, Bilbo thought he saw a pair of eyes in the window of the front room. Wide blue eyes in a little face, wreathed by dark curls, and wearing an expression of cautious curiosity.


	5. Chapter 5

Little Sam Gamgee carefully pushed at the huge, heavy door until it swung inwards. It was still quite hard to do but he was nevertheless proud that he could do it all on his own now.

            “Miss Lobelia?” he called tentatively. “ ’m back, and you’ll never guess who I saw.”

            An indistinct yell was his only reply; she was elsewhere in the house and would show herself soon enough. His only concern now was the quick pattering of little feet from the front room, of a Hobbit five years his junior running up to hug him fiercely about his waist.

            “Hey there Frodo.” He smiled softly; it had been a couple of days since he’d been allowed to see him. “How’s it goin’?”

            It took a moment, but when the younger finally spoke it was hardly more than a whisper.

            “Miss you.”

            “I know. I missed you, too. But you know what she’s like. I’d be here every day if I could, and we’d play and play all day long.” Frodo simply nodded, face still buried in Sam’s shirt. The older Hobbit felt a twinge then; he’d watched his friend go from outgoing and lively to withdrawn and all but silent, in the month since his parents’ death. He was the only one that could get him to talk at all these days, but he hoped Mister Baggins could help him with that. He wanted Frodo to be happy like he used to be.

            Large, grumpy-sounding footfalls signaled the entrance of the new mistress of Bag End, and Frodo released his hold on Sam only to scuttle behind him and poke a thumb in his mouth.

            “Look at you, late as usual and filth on your face.” Lobelia Sackville-Baggins, stern and aquiline and renowned for her unpleasant nature, glared down at the pair. “I told you to scrub yourself clean before you went into town, Samwise, or weren’t you listening?”

            “You said you wanted me t’be quick, ma’am. I went by the market but the butcher’d already left, ma’am.”

            “Really, I don’t know how I’m to run a household when I’m surrounded by laziness – ”

            “We’ve visitors, ma’am,” Sam said quickly, knowing that if given half the chance she would launch into an endless tirade about how no one did anything right.

            “What? What visitors?”

            “Mister Bilbo Baggins, and Mister Gandalf the wizard, and Mister Bofur the Dwarf.”

            Her beady eyes all but popped out of her face. “A _Dwarf?_ In my house? I think not, and shame on you, Samwise, for suggesting such a thing! Whatever would your Gaffer say? And I should think that –” she halted suddenly, realizing just what Sam had said.

            “Baggins? _Bilbo_ Baggins? But he died, surely! Went running East like the fool he is. You must be mistaken. You’ll have to be punished later; no one likes a liar.”

            Sam could feel Frodo tremble, and suddenly the child was shaking his head quite vigorously. He didn’t like that Lobelia was insulting Bilbo, a relative he’d never met but had heard about from his father, and he didn’t like that Sam was being threatened. Quickly Sam put his arm around Frodo’s little shoulders and squeezed reassuringly. _I’ll take care of it, don’t you worry._

            “I’m not lying, Miss Lobelia! I’ve never told a lie in me life! Here, come t’the door and see for yourself.” And he nudged the still partly open door with his foot, swinging it slowly wide.

            What he hadn’t been anticipating was that Bilbo, upon hearing his relative’s strident tones, hadn’t hesitated to come right up the path and had been about to push inside as Sam opened the door. Gandalf and Bofur were close behind him, and the little Hobbit could swear that the missus was near to a swoon at the sight.

            “I see you’ve made yourself to home, Lobelia.” Otherwise ignoring her, he aimed a concerned look at Sam. “Is everything alright? I heard raised voices.”

            “Miss Lobelia didn’t think you were actually back, Mister Baggins. She called me a liar!”

            “Did she now?” He aimed a stern glance at his cousin, whose haughty imperiousness had faltered considerably. “Well you can see quite clear for yourself that young Sam here spoke nothing but the truth. And now, to business!” He crouched down again and let his best smile through. “There seems to be a friend of yours hiding behind you, Sam. Is it okay if I talk to him?”

            Sam smiled then; anyone who could put mean ol’ Miss Lobelia in her place was alright in his eyes. But he wanted to check with Frodo first.

            “Lemme ask ’im.” He walked a little ways away, holding the younger Hobbit’s little hand in his own.

            Frodo looked cautiously back at Bilbo as they retreated down the corridor a ways. Then he looked up at his friend, the question plain in his eyes.

            “ ’s okay, Frodo. He’s the uncle that your Da always told you about. The one that’s been on adventures and fought dragons!”

            Frodo squeezed Sam’s hand, extra tight. “Nice?” he whispered.

            “He seems so t’me. If you want, I’ll go with you while he talks to you.” At his friend’s emphatic nod, he patted him on his head. “Atta boy. Let’s go meet him proper, shall we?”

            He went slowly back to the others despite his excitement, giving Frodo time to retreat if he changed his mind. But the hand in his did not tremble now, and he did not shy away as he was led close.

            “Frodo, this is your uncle Bilbo,” Sam said, in what he imagined was a grown-up voice. “Mister Baggins, I’d like you t’meet Mister Frodo. He’s your nephew, and also my best friend.”

            Bilbo could not stop the genuine smile that bloomed across his face then; Sam was obviously quite proud to take charge of their formal meeting. He’d never before encountered such fierce, protective loyalty in one so young, but there was nothing forced in Sam Gamgee’s manner – he seemed an open book of earnest honesty. Pushing the thought aside for later, Bilbo finally let his gaze connect with that of his nephew’s.

            The clear, guarded sapphire orbs widened a bit at the contact and there was some rapid blinking, but Frodo did not look away. He tilted his head a bit, almost as if studying Bilbo. Urgently he tugged on Sam’s sleeve, until the older stooped down.

            “Looks like Da!” was his excited whisper. “Hair an’ nose!”

            “He sure does,” Sam whispered back. “Can I tell ’im you said so?”

            Frodo flushed a little at that and hid his face in Sam’s shirt again, but nodded nonetheless.

            “He says you look like Mister Drogo.” The Hobbit was smiling hugely, especially when he saw Mister Bilbo’s eyes twinkle as his expression softened. It seemed this odd traveler could help make Frodo happy after all.

            “Thank you for saying so, Frodo. I quite liked your father, and I’m sorry he’s gone now.” One of the eyes reappeared, looking a little scared now. “I, ah, I was hoping we could have an afternoon, you and I, to get acquainted. I’ve been wanting to meet you for a long time.”

            “ ’s true,” Bofur chimed in. “We may be seasoned adventurers but sure and we were led on a merry chase just to get back to the Shire! Your uncle’s braved many lands to see you, laddie.”

            The sliver of fear in Frodo’s eyes melted a bit as he beheld the Dwarf, to be replaced by a bemused frown. He touched his upper lip and chin, and when Bofur wiggled his extensive mustache in response the child let out surprised giggle as he ducked behind his friend again. He reappeared on the other side, peeking out until Bofur repeated the motion. A bigger giggle followed the first as he hid once more, and the third time he saw the trick, emphasized with a waggle of the Dwarf’s eyebrows, he nearly laughed full-on.

            Sam’s whole face lit up and he looked sharply at Bilbo then, and Bilbo understood: this was the first time he’d heard Frodo laugh since his parents had died.

            “Funny!” Frodo’s eyes were laughing now too, and he looked at the Dwarf with new interest.

            “Thank you kindly,” was Bofur’s delighted reply, and he swept a smooth bow.

            “Wait _just_ a minute!” Outraged at not only being ignored for such a length of time but also at these _foreigners_ crowding her doorstep, Lobelia planted her hands firmly on her hips. “You cannot just waltz in here uninvited to make silly faces and disrespect my household! And pretend I am not here, and engage the children in scheming without my consultation!”

            “Sod off, Lobelia,” said Bilbo easily. “I’ll tell you where I hid the silver later, but at the moment I’ve a rather more important engagement with my esteemed nephew. Isn’t that so, Frodo?”

            The littlest in the room was wide-eyed now, torn between delight at hearing someone he didn’t like shut up and terror at what she might do about it later. He looked at Sam, who nodded, and Bofur, who did likewise, and finally back at his uncle, who was grinning like a naughty schoolboy and whose eyes twinkled exactly like his father’s.

            “Yes!” he said, going for delight. He hugged Sam again and did his best to spin them around like his parents had once done to him. The older let out a jubilant whoop and spun the both of them ’round and ’round.

            “Where to, Mister Bilbo?” Still holding Frodo easily, he peered over his friend’s curls with a brightly inquisitive look.

            “Why don’t you show us a place to go?” he said, feeling more lighthearted than he had in six long months. “It’s been awhile since I’ve been back and I daresay you know the area better than I do, now.”   

            Sam’s little chest puffed out with evident pride. “Follow me!” he declared. “Frodo and I’ll show you the best place to be with friends, won’t we?” The younger nodded happily, hand clasped tight in Sam’s gentle grip.

            They made their way down from Bag End and on a little path that Bilbo recognized as the road to Eastfarthing Woods, some ten minutes’ stroll from Bag End. Frodo was happy for the time being, the sun was shining, and he found he could cheerfully tune out his cousin’s departing yell of “You’d better be telling truth about the silver, Bilbo Baggins!” as well as the slam of the door.

            “Well done, Bilbo.” Gandalf smiled down at him, the skin around his eyes crinkled in merriment. “I daresay young Frodo will take a strong liking to you yet.”

            “Did you really fight dragons, Mister Bilbo?” Sam called from a little way ahead. “If you don’t mind me askin’.”

            “Oh, it was just one dragon,” he said airily, enjoying the way the youth’s eyes widened gleefully at the admission. “And really I hardly fought this one. More I just chatted with him a bit until his brains were so addled that he near exploded from the frustration.”

            “I do believe you made that up,” the wizard chuckled under his breath.

            “All good stories deserve embellishment, do they not?” Bilbo whispered back. “They’re young yet, and I was thinking it might be fun to write down the adventures I’ve had since leaving this place. I can get some good practice in telling it to these two.”

            “Do you hear that, Frodo?” Sam was saying excitedly. “Your uncle’s outwitted a dragon, an actual _dragon_ by all means!” Frodo’s blue eyes were wide as saucers as Sam continued to unrestrainedly pepper Bilbo with questions.

            “Here now, let’s not get too ahead of ourselves.” They’d reached a small and grassy clearing at the edge of a little forest now, and Bilbo sank with a grateful sigh to the soft ground.

            “There’s plenty more to my tale, that I can promise you, but there’s something I want to put to the both of you.” His heart was hammering again, and something in his face must have shown it because Sam’s face sobered a bit as he moved to sit as well, pulling a quiet yet awed Frodo into his lap.

            Bilbo licked his lips, thinking how best to continue. “You don’t like living with Miss Lobelia, am I right?”

            “No sir, Mister Baggins! She’s the meanest Hobbit I ever did meet.”

            “How – and this question is for you too, my dear Frodo – how would you like it if you didn’t have to live with her anymore? How would you like,” he asked, heartbeat now positively roaring in his ears, “to return with me to my new home in the East? I live in the same place as Bofur here, and his friends and family, and my…other friend named Thorin. It’s in the most beautiful mountain called Erebor, and it is a long way away from here.”

            Sam’s face was scrunched up with thought, and little Frodo looked absolutely bewildered. Bilbo wondered fleetingly if he’d spoken too soon; in truth he’d meant to wait a few days and let his nephew get to know him first before telling him of his plans. But if they were to leave with him there were a great deal of extra preparations to be made, and Bilbo wanted to stick to their tight schedule. He wanted to get to the mountain he’d come to call his home, and he wanted to get back to Thorin and his blue eyes that exactly matched his nephew’s.

            “You’ve time to think about it, of course,” he added, worried when he’d no response after a minute or two. “I know it may be hard to think about, leaving the only home you’ve ever known for one you don’t know at all. All I can say is that I had to make the same choice awhile ago, and that I’ve no regrets. Um. And there’s no pressure on you either; the decision is absolutely yours to make.”

            Sam and Frodo exchanged a look, and Sam looked back at him with a small frown.

            “Why?”

            He swallowed hard. “Drogo – your Da, Frodo – when he told me you’d been born, he also told me that he wanted me to look after you if anything happened to him. This is…well, this is the best way I know how. To take you back with me. And Sam, you mentioned your parents weren’t alive either so I thought you could come with us, and that way also you and Frodo needn’t be separated.”

            “Nothing could separate us,” he said stoutly, hugging Frodo to him. “Frodo’s not goin’ anywhere without me.”

            “Which is why it is entirely, and I really mean that, entirely up to you two. It’s your lives and when it comes right down to it I’ve no right to tell you how to live them.”

            Frodo whispered something in Sam’s ear. He nodded and got to his feet.

            “Let me’n Frodo talk about it first.”

            “By all means.” He was grateful enough that they were even considering it; from the moment it was confirmed that Frodo’s parents were dead he’d known what he had to do. He was going to look after his nephew to the absolute best of his abilities, and though he was so hoping they’d agree to his plan he knew well that he’d have to change his life considerably to accommodate them if they didn’t.

            “It will be far and away from simple to see them safely to Erebor.” Bofur spoke low, so as not to disturb the little ones on the far side of the clearing.

            “I know.”

            “Have you thought what Thorin might say?”

            He closed his eyes briefly, thinking of his lover. If they made it back to the Lonely Mountain on schedule, they would arrive mere days after the anniversary of Fíli and Kíli’s deaths. Would Thorin hate him for bringing back two young reminders of what he’d lost…or would he be as Bilbo, and revel in the chance to raise nephews again?

            “I will make it work,” he said at last, with a good deal more confidence than he felt. Noticing that Sam and Frodo were coming back towards them, he smiled to mask his worry.

            His nephew and Sam shared another look, and then faced Bilbo in unison to declare their decision.


	6. Chapter 6

Thorin sat down heavily, carefully re-reading Bilbo’s latest letter. It was considerably longer than the others, and in terms of content entirely surprising. And not necessarily in a good way.

            His Hobbit would not be returning with only Bofur and Gandalf at his side.

            _It is for the best, though I understand entirely that you might disagree with me for many reasons. But I must do this, Thorin. My nephew needs me, as he needs the company of his only friend. There is no other way._

_I am sorry I could not discuss this with you first, and I hope this will not change things overmuch between us. I will see you shortly, likely not long after this letter reaches Erebor._

_All my love goes to you._

            He set the letter aside gently, on top of the small box he’d had made to contain Bilbo’s missives in the unbearably long year that he’d been away. Suppressing a groan he scrubbed his hands over his face, too many emotions tangling his stomach into painfully confused knots.

            The problem was not that he disagreed with Bilbo’s decision. If he had been placed in such a position he would have acted exactly the same…in a way he had, when Dís had died not long after giving birth to Kíli. The dwarrows’ father had died a bare year previously, and Thorin had never once hesitated in bringing his nephews to his then-home in the Blue Mountains. He’d cared for them to the best of his abilities, and he’d still lost them.

            There, there was the problem, he thought angrily. Bilbo could very well be setting himself up for the same agonizing loss, and soon too as he intended to take two children into the Wild that stood stark and dangerous between the soft, safe Shire and the haven that was Erebor. What was he _thinking?_

            And even if they came through miraculously unscathed, what if he still lost them to some other force? In the midst of his raging internal conflict Thorin knew one thing with absolute certainty: should he have to watch the love of his life come to know what it was to lose his nephews, the children he was now effectively fathering, it would rip Thorin apart. Seeing Bilbo suffer to that degree coupled with the reminder of what he’d had and lost to his own foolishness would be far too much for him to handle.

            It did not help matters that, according to the letter, Sam and Frodo shared the same difference in age as Fíli and Kíli had.

            Yet by the same token, was this not in its own way what he had been wishing for? Not a day had passed that he did not think of his nephews, wish with all his heart that they still lived so he could go on with the joys of raising them, loving them, teaching them. What if the arrival of two young Hobbits to his kingdom filled the hole in his heart that had sat so very cold in his chest these past two years?

            Oh gods, what of his plans for courtship? The thought tripped him up, had him drawing a mental blank. All his careful planning, all the readying of gifts, of swearing the company to secrecy…what would become of that? Would Bilbo even have time for such dalliances, if he was now tasked with raising Frodo and Sam?

            Curse his hesitancy, his sheer foolishness at not telling Bilbo sooner! Their conversation before he’d left for the Shire echoed back to him then: _It can wait, little burglar. We can talk about it for as long as you wish upon your return._

            Would Bilbo even remember?

            He didn’t know. He just didn’t know. And now, if they’d kept to their schedule, he had less than a week to prepare for a major upheaval in his day-to-day life. And he hadn’t the faintest idea as to what he could do to make himself ready.

            Would Frodo and Sam like him?

            Ruthlessly pushing the thought away, he took several deep breaths. Clenched and unclenched his fists where they rested on his thighs, struggling to relax. Cast his mind back to what he’d done to prepare when he’d learned that Fíli and Kíli had been orphaned.

            Bedroom. He could start by designating a bedroom for them. And he would have it filled with flowers and books, so they might not miss the Shire so much. And he could have Bofur whip up a few toys for them, surely. And perhaps have some special clothes made. Mind now whirling with ideas, with possibilities, he set about seeking out the proper room.

            It would have to be near to his and Bilbo’s chambers, at least for a little while – he remembered well how one or both of his nephews would often patter down the halls to their uncle’s room during the night if wakened by a nightmare. It would also need to have sufficient room for the both of them; from Bilbo’s description of the pair it seemed they were nigh inseparable. And while he doubted that two little Hobbits could take up all that much room, he nevertheless was determined to provide comfort for his soon-to-be…guests? Nephews by proxy? What did one call the nephew-and-best-friend duo of one’s lover?

            Absorbing himself in details and logistics for making his mountain suitable and welcoming for Hobbit children certainly proved to be an interesting task, and thankfully one that provided some much-needed distraction from the tumultuous, emotional maelstrom inside of him. It was due to this distraction, however, that he was absolutely in no way prepared for the actual arrival of the party some six days later.

            He had not been prepared for the tugs to his heartstrings that came from seeing two little children, the older one fair and the younger one dark, bearing expressions of equal wonderment and fear. Wondering at their new home and fearful of its complete and total lack of familiarity.

            He remembered all too well what that was like, being driven from his home and forced to make do with what he could find in the West. But he had been a teenager by then, whereas the two small creatures now eyeing him apprehensively were mere children, one of them hardly more than a babe.

            Tearing his own uncertain eyes from the young ones, he looked toward Bilbo and inwardly started at how much…older he looked, somehow. Older and more tired. But his Hobbit let a joyous smile through nonetheless, eyes all a-twinkle, and rushed into Thorin’s waiting arms.

            “Gods above, but I’ve missed you so,” he whispered, holding on so fiercely that the Dwarf thought he might not ever let him go again. “It seemed I would never make it back at times.”           

            “You’re back now, and that is all that matters. You’re safe again.” Thorin did not even bother to stop himself from trembling, so overcome as he was to finally, finally be holding his love. “You came back to me.”

            “Nothing could have kept me away.” He emphasized his words with a hard kiss, forgetting a moment that his nephew was watching. It wasn’t until he heard a question in a small voice that he belatedly realized his audience.

            “Who’s that, Bilbo? Are you married?”

            “Oh!” Quickly he pulled away, blushing riotously. “This is Thorin. And were not married, as such.”

            _Yet,_ thought Thorin. “But we are together, yes.” The Hobbit smiled up at his Dwarf then, and threaded their fingers together.

            “Aunty?”

            The confused question had all eyes turning to look, surprised, at little Frodo. Cocking his head to the side, he pointed at Bilbo. “Uncle, yes?” At Sam’s nod, his face cleared and pointed to Thorin. “Aunty.” He looked quite pleased with himself.

            “Frodo, only girls can be aunties,” Sam said, assured of his own knowledge. “If Bilbo’s Uncle and Mister Thorin is in love with him, he’d be Uncle too.”

            Frodo frowned and shook his head. _“Aunty,”_ he said resolutely, pouting a bit. Shook his head at his friend’s misunderstanding, and pointed to Bilbo again. “Uncle already. Thorin Aunty.”

            Bilbo could not think of any time when it had been harder to keep a straight face. He cocked a brow at Thorin, his mirth shining clear in his eyes, and was met by amused chagrin in the gaze of his lover.

            On impulse, the Dwarf crouched down so that he was on eye level with the now animatedly arguing pair.

            “I can be your Aunty if you like, Frodo,” he said. “And Sam, I can be your…Uncle if you wish.” His voice nearly caught on the word, but he managed to mask it. Something odd and warm was curling up in his chest, but he was certain it would not prove to be a malignant sensation.

            Frodo, convinced the matter was closed, chanced a shy smile then. “Aunty,” he said again, meeting Thorin’s clear blue eyes with his own before giggling and hiding his face in Sam’s shirt, as had become habit for him when he was happy or embarrassed.

            Bilbo wanted tackle him to the ground right then; he had never in his wildest dreams thought that Thorin would be so gently playful with his charges at first meeting, given the circumstances. Yet here he was, a mighty Dwarf king acquiescing to the separate, adorable requests of a pair of Hobbit children.

            And he fell in love just a little bit more. Maybe he would change his answer to Sam’s question, he thought. Maybe he should ask Thorin to marry him.

            He could picture it so easily…Thorin standing in his finest robes before his throne, a wreath of camellias and peach-blossoms atop his dark braids and a ring forged by the unequaled craftsmanship of the Dwarves for Bilbo’s finger. Himself in white and gold finery, holding a bouquet of roses as he approached his beloved. Balin could officiate, Frodo and Sam could bear the rings and spread petals on his path to Thorin, Gandalf could do fireworks for the after-party.

            “Bilbo?”

            “Hm?”

            “Yer grinnin’ like a certain somebody just gave you the moon.” Bofur’s smile was knowing and tinged with mischief. “Either you’re daydreaming or y’need a bit of rest, yeah?”

            “Oh, of – of course. Rest, yes. Terribly long journey and all that.” He laughed nervously, noticing that all eyes were fixed curiously on his face. Oh, but he would have a marvelous time, he thought, making secret plans to court his favorite Dwarf.

            Clearing his throat, he straightened his battered vest. “Come along now, Frodo and Sam. Let’s find us a place for you in the Mountain, shall we?” Taking one of each of their hands, he led them into Erebor.

            Thorin watched them go, feeling the strangest mixture of love, anticipation, and quiet distress swirl thickly through his head. He had not expected himself to be so open with the little newcomers so soon. Perhaps it was because they reminded him so of stout Fíli and playful Kíli that he’d felt as though he could be open with them almost immediately.

            And that was something to think on, he thought as he joined his chattering company making its way towards the entrance of the Mountain after the trio of Hobbits. They might not be his blood relations, but they were Bilbo’s, and his heart was already lost to that particular Hobbit. He could easily make Sam and little Frodo part of his family.

            A twinge struck him then, the never-absent ache that his nephews had left in him with their deaths. But he imagined they would have been thrilled to get to know Bilbo’s tiny friends, and would teach them all manner of games and scheming mischief. And perhaps, perhaps with time he could take comfort in that thought. Perhaps he could do that for the Hobbits in his nephews’ stead.

            Bilbo, for his part, was bustling about and tucking his new sons into the large bed set up for them in a spare room two doors down from his own chamber. It really had been a long journey, certainly not an easy one, and he knew his little ones were quite tired. Indeed, Frodo had nearly fallen asleep on his feet as they’d made their way through the Mountain.

            Sam rubbed at his eyes as Bilbo lowered the lamps to a soft, soothing glow.

            “Uncle Bilbo?”

            “Yes, Sam?”

            “I miss the Shire.” He looked very small then, and Bilbo realized he’d yet to see this remarkable young Hobbit look so vulnerable.

            Feeling a lump rise in his throat, he brushed a soft hand over the boy’s hair. “I do too, sometimes. It fades with time, but we never really forget where we come from.” He glanced at Frodo, thought of how despite his young age, he had soldiered through the long months of travel. He’d spent more nights than Bilbo could count crying, scared and unsure and not knowing what to do in such unfamiliar lands. But he had never tried to go back, and Sam had been at his side to soothe and encourage every step of the way. Now the soother needed some proper soothing, he realized.

            Gently he sat at the edge of his bed, and opened his arms. Sam gratefully flowed into them, pillowing his head on Bilbo’s chest and letting loose a shuddering sigh that seemed a long time coming.

            “I do like it here, honest, and I’m glad you came to save me an’ Frodo. But I miss my home.”

            “I know, lad,” he soothed. “I know, and there’s nothing unusual or shameful in that. It has been hard, and you’ve been so brave. I can’t tell you how proud I am.”

            Sam gave him a watery smile. “It’ll be alright, right Bilbo? Will everything be alright?”

            “Absolutely, it will. I promise.” And he rocked him until his breathing deepened, and he was snoring softly. Bilbo stayed by his side a long time, and was very glad that he’d been able to take this precious part of his old home to his new one. It made everything so much easier.


	7. Chapter 7

“You really should be resting too, you know.”

            “So should you. What are you doing out of bed?”

            “Looking for my burglar, but it seems he has an odd fondness for stealing away into the night.” Thorin nodded to the small pile of little limbs in the center of the bed. “They’re safe now; you all are. Come to bed.”

            Bilbo simply shook his head. “Tomorrow morning they’re going to wake up in another new place, a place they don’t know, but that they have to contend with as their home. I want to be there in case they get scared.”

            “Bilbo, you have been gone for a full year.”

            “Then one more night should not make so much a difference.”

            “Every night that you are not by my side makes a difference.”

            “Please, Thorin. I need to be there for them.” The glow that had lit the Halfling’s eyes upon seeing the other enter the darkened bedchamber was fading. “I put them through hell and back by asking them to come back with me, and I need to make amends.”

            “You feel guilty for bringing them back?” Concerned now, he crossed to where Bilbo was perched on the edge of the bed, pulled up a reading chair he’d had placed in the room during its preparation for their arrival. He took Bilbo’s face in his hands, searched the troubled brown eyes. “Bilbo, you did the right thing.”

            “Did I really?”

            “From what I could tell of their situation in your letter, they weren’t terribly well off before your arrival. At least you brought them to a place where they will be nurtured, cared for.”

            “You weren’t there. You didn’t hear Frodo crying, night after night, from the hunger and the awful cold and from missing his parents. I don’t know what I would have done without Sam; he was so helpful. But he told me, not long before he fell asleep tonight, how much he misses the Shire. I took him away from that.”

            “You gave them a choice, did you not?”

            “Yes, but…” He scrubbed his hands over his face, turned to gaze at the little ones. “When I asked them, I made it seem like the better choice to come with me than to stay somewhere they’ve always known.”

            “Is it not? I don’t understand this, Bilbo. It seemed just a few hours ago you were thrilled to be back, and to have come back with them with you. What changed?” He brushed a thumb over the Hobbit’s cheek. “Look at me, Halfling. What went wrong?”

            Sighing, he looked at Thorin and wanted to just fling himself into his lover’s arms and pretend he could take care of it all for him.

            “I was – I _am_ happy to be back. It was so hard to be away, and it really was lovely to come home.” He covered one of Thorin’s hands with his own, pressed his lips to the palm. “I just – I’m afraid I made a terrible mistake, Thorin. After they’d fallen asleep I got to thinking, and realized I’ve no idea how to be an uncle, a father. I’ve practically no experience with children before now, and I want so badly to do well by them. They’re my responsibility, and I owe it to Drogo to raise them well. But I don’t know how, and I fear I may already be failing by putting them through such an ordeal. I don’t know what to do.”

            _Balin, I’m just their uncle and they hardly know me. What can I do to make this easier for them?_

Thorin smiled at the memory. Oh, how he’d changed in the last eighty-odd years. He nodded to Frodo and Sam and said, “Have you ever considered just acting on instinct?”

            “Well that’s what I’ve been doing, and so far nothing’s gone terribly wrong –”

            “Then why worry? If something does go wrong, you’ll deal with it.”

            “But you know so much more than I,” he protested. “Surely there’s something you can tell me to do to make sure I won’t mess up? Some advice you could give me, surely?”

            Thorin had to make a valiant effort to smother the laughter that bubbled up in his throat. “Oh, you really haven’t spent much time around children.” At Bilbo’s stony look, he smiled and brushed a hand over his curls. “Every parent makes mistakes at some point; it’s just how life works. You make mistakes, and how are the children to know? You’ll do your best, and that is all anyone can ask of you. Intention matters more than you give it credit for, Uncle Bilbo.”

            Bilbo frowned and halfheartedly shoved at the Dwarf. “Why, you’re no help at all.” He snuggled up to the other at last, slung his arms about his neck. “Are you sure about this?”

            Thorin slipped an arm under his Hobbit’s knees and scooped him up, carried him out of the room and down the hall bridal-style. “I’m always sure,” he said stoutly.

            Bilbo snorted. “You are not. You weren’t sure about how wonderful I am for the first two months we knew each other, if I remember right.” He huffed at bit as Thorin dropped him bodily onto the mattress. “Oh? Have I offended the King Under the Mountain?”

            “I’m sure he’ll eventually put it behind him,” Thorin purred as he stripped and climbed in beside the Hobbit. “Just as I’m sure you’ll see that I’m right come the morrow.”

            “Of course.” As soon as Thorin had climbed beneath the furs he wriggled over to him and buried his face in the Dwarf’s warm, wonderfully solid chest. And inhaled deeply, nearly groaning at the scent he’d been deprived of for twelve long months.

            “Thorin, are you really sure all will be well?” Serious now, he wound his arms tight about his lover’s waist as the other drew up the furs to cover their entwined bodies. “All during our traveling I was there when they awoke, and now I won’t be. Will they be alright?”

            “They are strong despite their tender years,” he murmured reassuringly. “If they can endure crossing the Wild, they can endure waking up on their own. Children need to be allowed to grow, much as you might want to always be there to protect them.”

            Bilbo nodded slowly as his eyes drifted shut. Thorin held him gently, stroking his tense shoulders until his breathing evened and slowed, and his muscles one by one relaxed into his embrace. Carefully he turned onto his side so that they faced one another, and drew the Hobbit more truly to him. Let out a shaking if contended sigh at finally, finally having his little lover back in his arms to stay.

            As he drifted towards dreams, his thoughts were not on the two newest additions to their lives, but on Bilbo’s preoccupation with such. He hoped muzzily that Bilbo would not be too distracted by his worrying, otherwise he might not realize that Thorin was actively courting him. And as he slipped into sleeping the Dwarven king pondered how he might have to alter his plans to unite himself and his Hobbit to the fullest extent.

*          *          *

Thorin had risen early, as was his custom. He’d let Bilbo sleep; despite the unintelligible murmur and tugging on his arm as he’d left their bed the Hobbit had resumed his steady, muffled snoring soon enough.

            He retrieved Bilbo’s heavy pack from where it had been dropped on the floor the day before and began to unpack it, wanting to begin his courting in earnest by acting in a husbandly manner. He carefully pulled out extra shirts and trousers, uneaten pieces of elven bread and Bilbo’s weed-pipe. Near to the bottom his questing fingers found a crinkled, slightly crumpled piece of paper that bore delightfully familiar handwriting upon it.

            Curiosity piqued, he smoothed out the battered parchment and felt an uncharacteristically goofy smile spread across his features. It seemed Bilbo had remembered something about their long-ago conversation after all.

            _I fear I may go mad from missing you while I’m away, and start mooning over you like a love-struck youth… the next thing you know I’ll be gazing wistfully into the distance and sighing all the time and composing morose, overwrought poetry._

 He read over the poem on the paper before him, or rather what seemed to be several attempts to start a poem. Many interesting and somehow adorably graphic phrases were crossed out or circled; it was clear that the Hobbit had been intensely unsure of how to word his true feelings. He found his eyebrows quirking at one description in particular concerning the name ‘Oakenshield’ in conjunction with a certain part of his anatomy.

            The patter of little feet jerked him out of his reverie; he quickly folded the parchment and slipped it back into Bilbo’s pack. He was just crossing back to the bed to wake the Hobbit when the door creaked open almost timidly. A pair of sleepy hazel eyes peered in, widened a bit at the Dwarf and his uncle in the same bed together.

            “Uncle Bilbo?”

            Thorin winked at Sam. “He’s sleeping yet, but you can come in.”

            Pushing the door a little wider, Sam walked in stifling a yawn and towing Frodo behind him; the younger Hobbit was trying to suck his thumb and cradle a toy puppy Bofur had whittled for him in his one free hand and not having much success.

            Sam lifted Frodo up onto the bed next to Bilbo and clambered up next to him. The moment he’d been set down Frodo had crawled over his uncle so that he could work his way under Bilbo’s outstretched arm and grab onto his hand. He closed his eyes and smiled a little, relaxing. Sam had curled up on his other side, fisting his hand in the Hobbit’s shirt and likewise settling down.

            All this passed without a word. Thorin watched bemusedly; it seemed that although the children were alright waking up on their own, they weren’t yet willing to wait for their uncle to rise. Indeed neither of them seemed to be trying to fall asleep again. They just lay there, waiting.

            “How come you’re not married?”

            “I beg your pardon?” He aimed a somewhat surprised look at Sam, whose eyes had opened again and were regarding him quizzically.

            “I said how come you’re not married? You’re in love, aren’t you?”

            “Well, yes. Yes, of course. I love your uncle very much.”

            Sam nodded. “Then y’should get married.” He closed his eyes again and wriggled a bit to get comfortable.

            Momentarily unsure of how to respond, Thorin floundered a moment. “Well, I…certainly intend to. Marry your uncle, that is. I fully intend to marry your uncle, but I don’t think he knows it yet. There’s the whole business of courting, you see, and –” he was cut off by a little snore.

            He shook his head. Children really were the most forthright of creatures.

            Just as it seemed Sam had fallen asleep, Bilbo stirred a bit and muttered something. He hugged the two younger Halflings to him, then gently disentangled himself from them to sit up and regard the Dwarf who watched over them.

            “I see they came looking for me after all.” Though his voice was still thick with sleep, Thorin thought he heard a trace of smugness in the statement. “I told you.”

            “They did not seem unduly distressed upon entering our bedchamber,” Thorin replied with mock hauteur. “It seems we were both right.”

            Bilbo smiled and looked fondly at the two. Frodo rolled over then and opened his eyes.

            He’d been listening to Sam’s words and Aunty Thorin’s replies carefully, and mulling them over very thoroughly. He looked at Uncle, then at Aunty, and back to Uncle again.

            “Sammy’s right.”

            “What’s that, my lad?” Bilbo stroked a hand over the youngest Hobbit’s dark curls.

            “Sammy’s right,” he said again, looking almost sternly at his uncle. “Get married.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter's a little on the short side :P The last chapter should (gods willing) be up in the next couple of days.
> 
> SA


	8. Chapter 8

_Married?_ Bilbo felt a sudden, hard twist in his heart as he looked sharply at Thorin. Who, interestingly enough, seemed unable to meet his gaze and was, unless Bilbo was much mistaken, valiantly trying to smother a rather large grin.

            And he was – blushing? Thorin was _blushing!_ Redder than a sunburned beet, he was, and making no move to mask it. Saying no pompous words to distract from the matter.  

            “Frodo, what on earth are you talking about?” A sort of quivering hope was rising in Bilbo’s throat, and he felt a very queer feeling of rushing towards some unseen destination. “What makes you say that…that we should…”

            Frodo shook his head. Were adults always this silly? “Sammy’s right,” he said again, as though that explained everything. When Bilbo and Thorin continued to say nothing, he crawled over to his friend and pushed at his shoulder.

            “Wakey wakey Sammy!”

            “Whswhtfl?” Rubbing at his eyes, Sam pushed himself to sitting. “What’s happening?” He noticed Bilbo was now awake and, indeed, Thorin was blushing like a teenager. Frodo still happily pushed at his shoulder, rocking back and forth.

            “Hey, I’m awake now! What’s goin’ on?”

            “Uncle’s silly. Doesn’t know why.”

            “Huh? Doesn’t know why what?”

            _“Married,_ Sammy!” He was all but bouncing up and down now. “You said Uncle an’ Aunty get married. Uncle doesn’t know why.”

            “Why…ohhh. I see now.” Yawning, he turned to the still-nonplussed Bilbo. “ ’s obvious, innit? Uncle Thorin loves you an’ you love Uncle Thorin, right?” At Bilbo’s nod, he continued, “So why aren’t you married?”

            “I – well, you see – I didn’t know if he…wanted to or…or not,” he finished lamely, now also blushing and unable to meet the Dwarf’s piercing eyes.

            “Well, why din’t you ask?”

            Thorin cleared his throat, attempting to regain some composure. “An – an excellent question, Sam. If you don’t mind, could you and Frodo give Bilbo and I some, ah, privacy?” At the Hobbit’s stern stare, he hastily added, “I’ll ask him; worry not on that. And I’ll send word the moment he answers, alright?”

            Satisfied, Sam nodded and hoisted Frodo into his arms with a grunt. “C’mon, you. They’re gonna have grown-up talk now.”

            “Married!” Frodo called back as he was carried from the room, almost as a reminder. The door shut, and the silence that descended then was likely the most awkward one Bilbo or Thorin had ever experienced.

            They sat there, on opposite sides of the bed, nervously sneaking glances at each other and utterly at a loss for words, for a full minute. Thorin found himself thinking ruefully that Bilbo had been serious: the Hobbit really _was_ mooning over him like a love-struck youth.

            “Did you ever doubt I would say yes?”

            “P-pardon?”

            Thorin looked down at where his hands were, oddly enough, twisting themselves together. His heart was pounding as it had one long-ago night, when he’d asked himself if the Hobbit now sitting opposite him was worth pursuing. “Did you ever doubt that I would say yes?”

            “To what?”

            “To you.”

            “I – Thorin, I just – I don’t know what to say. I am not good with words as you are.”

            The Dwarf turned to face him and Bilbo felt his heart all but stop. The look Thorin aimed at him then was unlike any he had seen before.

            In one smooth motion he rose, strode around the bed till he stood before the Hobbit, holding his startled eyes with his own shining ones.

            And he took his hands, and went down on bended knee.

            “Thorin...?” Nervous, excited, terrified and full of hope, he gripped the Dwarf’s large, calloused palms to stop his own from shaking. Was he awake, or still dreaming? Was this real?

            “Bilbo Baggins.” He gazed deeply at his hobbit, a thousand memories flashing through his head. Bilbo, trussed up like a turkey and bargaining with a trio of trolls. Bilbo, hanging at the edge of a cliff in a terrible storm. Bilbo, rushing to his side with every intention of giving his life to save Thorin’s.

            Bilbo, curled up next to him in the predawn light, telling him that he loved him.

            “You told me once,” he began slowly, “of a dream that you had. That I lay dead in your arms and you were unable to save me. You told me how it frightened you, how it broke you to feel that. And I told you that I would never be gone from your side again, when you trembled in the night. That I would always be here, with you. ‘Forever’, I said. I meant that.” His chest was near to heaving, he realized as he spoke, the words coming easier now. His heart was rising, rising, filling near to bursting with a love he’d once thought never to have. “I meant that, Bilbo, with everything that I am. Everything that _we_ are, together.

            “We’d begun to make our life together, you and I, before you knew you had to return to the Shire. You didn’t know it but that conversation we had? When you told me of Frodo’s birth? That was when I was going to tell you of…this, in a way. Of my plans to court you. Plans that would end,” he took several deep, steadying breaths and pulled a small something out of his pocket, “with this.”

            Bilbo could not suppress the gasp that spilled out of him; the ring was a softly glowing gold, and inlaid with – well they looked like pieces of diamond, but they were glittering in a strange way that he knew diamonds didn’t.

            Thorin smiled softly then. “They are pieces of the Arkenstone, Halfling. It is the heart of the Mountain, and this is my mountain. And you are my heart.” He held it up so that the light caught it, made the swirling colors in it all but sing in joy. He looked back at Bilbo and started a bit as he saw the tears streaming down his ruddy cheeks. Tears that made his glowing eyes and shyly smiling lips glisten beautifully in the soft morning light.

            “It – it would –” the Dwarf found his own throat constricting suddenly, and words no longer easy as emotion overcame him. He cleared it carefully, and felt a tear of his own slide down his cheek and into his beard. “It would p-please me greatly if you would accept it, and…and be mine. You are my only One, Bilbo Baggins of the Shire. Forever.”

            And at Bilbo’s enthusiastic nod, tearful wonder glowing in his face, he took Bilbo’s hand and carefully slipped the ring onto his finger. It sat snug there, happy in its place. Bilbo gazed at it a long moment, hardly believing what he was seeing. He’d been so afraid to bring up such things to his Dwarf, so afraid that he would be content with just being lovers. And here again Thorin had surprised him. Had been waiting for the chance, as Bilbo had, to join them completely.

            “I…how?” He was shaking, shaking like a leaf and smiling so hard it was a wonder his cheeks weren’t hurting. “How did you have time to…how did you know to…to make this?”

            “The day you left to see Frodo, I found myself terrified that something might happen to you; that I had made a grave mistake in not telling you the depth of my feelings before you left. So I had this made immediately, and made my plans for courting after. I knew what I wanted,” he cupped Bilbo’s cheek, “But I didn’t know how to tell you then. Having you gone, having you come back and give me the gift of your kin to help you raise…” he blinked hard against the tears welling inside him. “I knew it was time. I needed to either begin courting you or propose outright, and your little nephews helped me decide. I want you to be truly mine.”

            “I always have been.” Bilbo cupped the Dwarf’s cheek in turn. Everything inside his heart was soaring, singing, flying with the fullness of love. “From that first night, it has always, _always_ been you. You are my life. My One.” He brushed his free hand over the ring that sparkled on his finger. “I meant what I said too, that night. I love you, Thorin Oakenshield, my King Under the Mountain. And it will always be so.”

            They stared at each other for a heartbeat longer…and finally, finally threw themselves into each other’s arms and pressed their lips together in a tenderly fierce kiss.

            Emotion swirled thickly about the pair as they clung to one another. How could they have ever deprived themselves of this immensity of love, this fullness of joy? Of sharing their lives, in every way, of committing to building such a life as one?

            “Married!” The little call startled them apart for a moment and had them glancing at the just-barely open door, where two pairs of smiling eyes quickly vanished from sight and the sound of retreating giggles met their ears.

            They looked at each other and burst out laughing, happily twining themselves again in each other’s embrace.

            “Come on back, you little scalliwags,” Bilbo called, positively glowing with joy. “We’ve some news for you, Thorin and I.”

            Not thirty seconds later the room was suddenly full of bounding Hobbit as Frodo and Sam all but flung themselves onto their bed and into their uncle’s waiting, laughing arms.

            “Oh, my boys,” he chuckled. “Whatever would we have done without your wisdom?”

            “Been silly!” said Frodo stoutly.

            “Very silly,” Sam agreed. “What took you so long, anyway?”

            Thorin let loose a deep chuckle, and for the first time reached out his hand and brushed it almost hesitantly over Sam’s chestnut curls. And when Sam smiled at him and took his hand, he thought he just might start crying again.

            “Well you see, Sam,” he began, “Adults just like to take their time about things, it seems. We aren’t as good at saying what we feel as you young ones are.” Sam sat a little taller then and positively beamed.

            “Well ’m glad you finally figured out how,” he said airily. “Elseways Uncle Bilbo would keep writin’ silly sad stuff and pouting all the time.”

            Bilbo flushed right down to the hairs on his feet. “Ah, Uncle Thorin doesn’t need to know about that,” he said hastily. But he smiled at Thorin, and winked.

            “So when’s the wedding?” Sam looked between the two of them. “Don’t tell me you’re gonna take forever with that too.”

            “So impatient,” Thorin smiled. “Unfortunately, there’s a great many plans that need to be made for a wedding. You’ll see, when the time comes for you to find your One.”

            “My one what?”

            Bilbo laughed and laughed, stifling it at the confused look on Sam’s face. “We’ll tell you when you’re older, my boy. You and Frodo run along now and get dressed, and then mayhaps you can help us plan the wedding party, yes?” When they’d scampered out, Frodo still chanting “Married married married!” at the top of his little voice, he put his arms around Thorin’s neck and placed a kiss on his forehead.

            “You could learn a thing or two from them, your nephews.”

            “ _Our_ nephews,” Bilbo gently corrected him.

            Thorin nodded, heart swelling at being able to say that again. “Our nephews. They are ever so forward, whereas you skirt ’round the issue for quite a while before getting to the point.”

            “Oho, I could easily say the same of you!” He nipped playfully at Thorin’s ear. “‘Harrumph harrumph, there’s things I want to say, Halfling of my Heart, but first let me wax lyrical for twenty minutes beforehand, and –” He was cut off by a small shriek as Thorin tickled at the bottoms of his feet.

            And so the day went on. Plans were made, the company told, many a glass raised in toast of the new couple. On the day of the wedding they rose and dressed separately, each feeling the fullest contentment. Bilbo went to wait in the throne room, where the ceremony would take place, and knew Thorin would join him shortly. As soon as he’d taken care of one final detail.

            The King Under the Mountain made his quick, quiet way down into the dark, until he’d reached the burial chamber.

            Steeling himself, he ducked quickly inside and went to stand before his nephews’ coffin.

            “I’m to be married today,” he said softly, one hand absently stroking the marble. “I wish very much that you both could be here; Mahal knows you teased us about getting married often enough. I still have the list of baby names you placed under Bilbo’s pillow that one night, and it may yet come in handy.

            “I, um…” He sighed. The pain was still there, but it was easing now, every day. “I know you’d have loved Frodo and Sam. They’re very much like you, you know. And while they’ll never replace you, they make it easier for me to live a happy life. I know how very much you wanted me to be happy.”

            He hesitated a moment, then took two red roses he’d taken from Bilbo’s bouquet and placed their entwined stems at the coffin’s center. “There. Now you can have a part in our love that we make full and true today. I miss you Fíli, and I miss you, Kíli. I miss you and I love you, and I hope you’re resting well.”

            Thorin turned from the coffin and left the tomb, carefully closing the door behind him. He smiled then, full and bright, and went to meet his destiny.

_FIN_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so ends another part of their tale.
> 
> I want to just say how much it moves me to have all y'all reading and commenting and bookmarking my works throughout this series :) It has been an amazing three months and I cannot thank you guys enough because really, without you none of this would have been possible or nearly so rewarding.
> 
> That being said, the way I've decided to have this series continue is through YOU, my wonderful readers. Parts 2 & 3 of this series were created thanks to reader prompts for what they wanted to see happen next, and I see no reason to not continue such a trend. So, Dear Reader, should you have a prompt or an idea for what's next in store for the Dwarf and the Hobbit, I invite you to leave any and all ideas in the comments below. 
> 
> Again, thank you from the bottom of my heart for all this support in my journey as a storyteller. It means the world to me :) <3 
> 
> SA
> 
> \-------------------------------------  
> Edit: I HAVE A TUMBLR NOW EHEHEHEHE  
> rabidruminations.tumblr.com


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